Try Me
by ilovetvalot
Summary: When Penelope's curiousity reveals deeply hidden secrets, can Aaron stop her before Emily's life is put in further danger? Angst/friendship, Garcia/Hotch. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello, friends! We've got sign-ups going on for or newest "Writers of the Silver Screen" challenge. Check it out. We think it'll be a lot of fun. We also have a mini-challenge in progress for the departing character of Ashley Seaver (no sign-up for this one. Just write a story following the guidelines and link it to the thread on "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum.**_

_**Oh, and we're having a lot of fun over at Facebook. To join in the conversations, simply friend "Ilovetvalot Fanfiction". That's me. I'll get you added as quickly as possible. It's just another way for we writers and readers to communicate. And I love to hear from y'all.**_

_**Gotta take a second to thank all our loyal readers for sticking with us. Tonnie and I are having a blast bringing y'all stories. We do want to let you know that our posts may be a tad bit slower over the next few weeks. Tracia's husband will soon be home from Afghanistan on mid-tour leave (Hallelujah!) and Tonnie's real life is a bouncing handful right now (also a Hallelujah, just a bit more subdued!) We appreciate your support, and we are diligently working on all of our epics and many new oneshots!**_

_**Now, on with the show...**_

* * *

**Try Me**

**Chapter One**

She'd never know what had made her run that particular search.

Maybe it was boredom...maybe it was for closure...maybe it was just her sheer morbid curiosity. Or perhaps, it was because deep down in that part of her that was sheer conspiracy theorist, she'd always suspected the deep and not-so-hidden truth.

But, she had never expected to stumble onto proof of her suspicions.

As she looked at the latest bank statement of her allegedly fallen comrade, however, the truth was irrefutable. It was facing her in black and white.

Emily Prentiss' copious funds had slowly been filtered out of her bank account over the last six months...and Penelope had traced the cash to three distinct females...all looking remarkably similar.

Pulling up the three visas side by side on her glowing screen, Penelope shook her head as she stared at the images and tried to process the information she'd unearthed.

Three identities. Arabella Scorria hailed from Valencia, Italy. Sarah Marsh was from New Haven, England. And Nicolette Dubois resided in Paris, France.

Which was a neat trick, she thought with a silent snort.

Especially since Emily Prentiss was supposed to be resting in the eternal arms of the angels.

Now, what the hell did she do? Glancing at the red glowing numbers on the clock on her desk, she flipped her laptop closed with a flick of her wrist, her decision made.

Only one man would know how to proceed from here.

Grabbing her purse with one arm and her laptop with the other, she inhaled deeply, steadying herself.

"Aaron Hotchner, here I come," she said aloud, squaring her shoulders as she walked purposefully out the door.

XXX

Hesitating outside the door of Hotch's townhouse, Garcia began to second guess herself. After all, it was two in the morning. Either really late or very early, no matter how she sliced the proverbial pie.

Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder as she stared at the brass knocker in front of her, she twitched her lips from side to side uncertainly. Could this wait? A few more hours wouldn't really make a difference, would it? After all, their Cupcake had been out there all alone for months now. Would another half-day change that horrendous fact?

Lifting her hand to her temple, Garcia grimaced as she took a step backward, her foot dislodging one of the flowerpots on the stoop, knocking it to the sidewalk. The echoing crash marred the black night, and she watched as a light flickered on inside the house.

Damn, there was no turning back now.

Lifting her hand to the knocker, she rapped twice as she began to attempt to form an explanation for her presence on her boss's doorstep at the witching hour.

But, seconds later as a bleary eyed Aaron Hotchner opened the door, his hair tussled, Garcia blurted the first words that came into her mind.

"Emily's alive!"

Squinting, Hotch stared at his wild eyed technical analyst for a moment. "Garcia?"

"Emily's alive, Hotch!" Garcia repeated, grabbing Hotch's arm and shaking it, wondering if the man's hearing was more damaged than he had been letting on. "Did you hear me? She's alive!"

Covering the chilled hand resting on his forearm with his, Aaron drew Penelope across the threshold into the much warmer foyer of his home. "Garcia," Hotch said calmly, noting the tight lines around her pinched mouth, her lips almost obscenely pale without her usual war paint, "Emily is dead. You know that."

Shoving Hotch aside as she shook her head, Garcia hurried toward the sofa, dropping her bag to the floor with a soft plop. "I don't know what made me look, Hotch. I really don't," she babbled, pulling her laptop from its carrier and popping it open on the coffee table in front of her. "But, I did...and this," she said, jabbing her finger toward the glowing screen that still displayed the damning pictures, "is what I found."

Frowning, Aaron followed her into the living room. Shaking his dark head, he murmured, "You went looking for information?"

"I was...I just..." Garcia floundered, glancing up at his neutral face and well aware that he was not buying any of her story. "Will you just look?" she finally got out, grabbing his hand and pulling him unceremoniously down beside her.

Peering at the computer screen, Hotch tried to remain emotionless as he stared at the three visas that were undeniably Emily Prentiss. Damn it, why hadn't he and JJ foreseen this complication? Why hadn't they known that with this unique woman's boundless enthusiasm for all things technical, that she'd manage to uncover their secret.

"It's her, Hotch," Garcia said excitedly, bouncing up and down on the leather couch. "It's her!" she virtually squealed, looking at her boss for validation. "Why aren't you happy?" she asked, deflating as she watched his eyes darken. "She's alive."

"No, Garcia," Hotch said softly, reaching out to close the computer. "She's not," he denied as he clicked the laptop shut. "You never saw that tonight," he continued, his voice vibrating with tension as he stared into her shocked gaze.

"Wh-what?" Garcia asked, her jaw dropping as she stared at the taciturn man beside her. "Why?" she asked, raising her voice a notch when Hotch's jaw flexed.

"Penelope," Hotch began, hesitating when he saw her eyes cloud.

"No!" Pen hissed, pointing a finger at him in defiance, "Don't you dare. Don't you dare tell me to ignore this, Aaron Hotchner! She's alive. We have to do something!"

"Sometimes the best thing to do is absolutely nothing," Aaron suggested softly, staring at her.

Eyes widening as she listened to the familiar voice of her boss...her friend...spouting complete bullshit, Pen shook her head. "Who are you?" she gaped, her eyes narrowing. Something was off here. Way, way off. "You're not surprised," she whispered, the complete truth of the situation hitting her squarely between her bespectacled eyes. "You knew!" she shrieked, jumping to her feet.

"Penelope," Hotch murmured, reaching for her hand, "I can explain...sort of," he amended with a wince.

"You knew the truth all along and you let us all suffer," Penelope accused as she began to shake. Before rational thought could take hold, instinct reared its ugly head, her palm slicing through the air to connect sharply with Hotch's jaw, a crisp crack resounding in the air as her hand connected with his cheek.

Aaron's head whipped to the side as Garcia's small hand connected. Ignoring the sting, both to his skin and his soul, he inhaled deeply, searching for a way to convince the livid woman before him to become a cooperative participant in the plan to keep Emily safe.

"How could you do this?" Garcia hissed, taking a step backward as she stared at Hotch with new eyes. When an immediate response wasn't forthcoming, Penelope shook her head furiously, narrowing her sparkling eyes. "You know, Hotch, no man is an island and currently you're swimming in shark infested waters! Talk!" she yelled, lowering her voice as she heard a small cough down the hallway. Wincing, she lowered her voice in deference to his sleeping son. "I mean it, Hotch. Talk or I take this to the team faster than Bill Gates can say, "My Microsoft millions!""

"Penelope, you can't do that," Hotch said quickly, leveling her with a meaningful stare as he tilted his head. "Ever."

"Try me," she snorted, her hands dropping to her hips. "I dare you to present me with one good reason not to yell it from the freaking bell tower!"

"Because one small misstep on our side could cost Prentiss her life," Hotch answered, his deep voice resonating with authority as he silently willed her to back down.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Hello, friends! We've got sign-ups going on for or newest "Writers of the Silver Screen" challenge. Check it out. We think it'll be a lot of fun. We also have a mini-challenge in progress for the departing character of Ashley Seaver (no sign-up for this one. Just write a story following the guidelines and link it to the thread on "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum._**

**_Oh, and we're having a lot of fun over at Facebook. To join in the conversations, simply friend "Ilovetvalot Fanfiction". That's me. I'll get you added as quickly as possible. It's just another way for we writers and readers to communicate. And I love to hear from y'all._**

**_Gotta take a second to thank all our loyal readers for sticking with us. Tonnie and I are having a blast bringing y'all stories. We do want to let you know that our posts may be a tad bit slower over the next few weeks. Tracia's husband will soon be home from Afghanistan on mid-tour leave (Hallelujah!) and Tonnie's real life is a bouncing handful right now (also a Hallelujah, just a bit more subdued!) We appreciate your support, and we are diligently working on all of our epics and many new oneshots!_**

**_Now, on with the show..._**

* * *

**Try Me**

**Chapter Two**

But Penelope Garcia was nothing if not determined. Especially when she felt like she'd been betrayed by the one man she trusted above all others. Lifting her chin, Penelope glared at Aaron. "Cut the crap, Captain Ahab," she snapped. Stepping forward, she jabbed a finger into Hotch's broad chest as she spoke, "We rode those freaking waves to find your whale! And you're suggesting we just leave Em in the ocean to drown? Screw that!"

"This isn't a sophomore literature class, Garcia," Hotch replied, grabbing her arms when she would have slapped him again, capturing her fingers in an iron grip. "And Moby Dick was small potatoes compared to Ian Doyle. Nothing here is black and white."

Blinking back angry tears, Garcia met Hotch's serious eyes. "Who else knows?" she whispered.

"Myself, JJ, and Clyde Easter," Hotch informed her succinctly, watching as the younger woman seemed to sag. Damn it to hell and back, Hotch silently cursed as he realized that he might have just destroyed one of the strongest friendships he'd ever seen. JJ and Garcia were closer than most sisters he knew. Penelope was JJ's son's godmother, for Christ sake. "Garcia, JJ didn't have a choice," Hotch explained quickly, hoping against hope to ameliorate the destruction that was sure to come. "Her orders to remain silent came from so high above our pay grade that it gives me altitude sickness to think about it."

Coldness descended over her as he spoke, but she didn't really hear anything he said. "Both of you?" she breathed, looking away from him to stare at the wall over his shoulder. "You did this together. You let us believe that we buried one of our own. How can you possibly justify that?"

"Penelope, not only would Emily be in danger if we told the rest of you, but the entire team as well. Doyle has a vendetta and he'll stop at nothing to exact his revenge," Hotch explained, tightening his hands around her wrists as he felt her delicate muscles constrict to pull away. Of all the members of his makeshift family, this woman was the one he least wanted to disappoint...to see her looking at him with those bright, wounded eyes, rounded with pain and disillusionment. "One team member in danger is bad enough, but all of you?"

"You don't have the right to play God," Penelope whispered, forcing herself to meet his somber stare in the dimly lit room. "She was...she is," Pen corrected, swallowing painfully as she felt another wave overwhelm her, "our friend, too. Our family."

"I made a decision that would keep the greatest number of people safe, Penelope," Hotch stated softly, forcing himself to remain calmer than he actually felt. "You can hate me for it if you choose. God knows, if Emily comes home..."

"When!" Pen spat. "When she comes home!"

"You're right," Hotch conceded. "When she comes home, I'm going to have to defend my decisions to the rest of the team. I don't expect you all to agree with me. I never did. But, there isn't another way. We're going to get Doyle. But, I can't allow all of you to become targets in the process."

"You won't allow it. You could. You could choose to let us do our freaking jobs and hunt this whack-a-doodle like we have all the other creeps we've caught. You're choosing not to do it. You're making the choice to throw Emily to the wolves."

"You're making me into a monster," Hotch bit out, his heart shredding as he realized just how close to the mark she was with her assessment.

"You're acting like one," Pen retorted angrily, her eyes glimmering. "I don't understand, Hotch. When I got shot, you moved heaven and earth to find the jerk that put a bullet in me. You broke rules and oaths left and right..."

"Ian Doyle is not a garden variety unsub, Penelope," Hotch returned sharply, refusing to allow her to make correlations that discounted the true danger of the situation. "He's a terrorist. They're totally different animals."

"They're first cousins and you know it," Pen huffed, smacking his arm. "I may not be a profiler, but even I'm savvy enough to pick up on that." Lifting her chin and taking a step closer, coming nose to chin with him, she challenged, "Tell me that we couldn't have helped, Hotch. Go ahead, try me."

Bending his head to stare at her for a long, charged moment, he finally shook his head. "I can't," he confided huskily, blinking. "You're right. We could have helped."

"We still could," Garcia pleaded, pulling one arm from his grip to grab a handful of his tee shirt in desperation.

"Garcia, it wasn't my choice," Aaron confided truthfully.

Rolling her eyes as she refused to accept that statement on face value, Penelope held her ground. "We've gotten around other agencies before, Hotch. We've broken the rules and lived to tell the tale..."

"It wasn't mandated by the Agency either, Penelope," Hotch interrupted, pressing a finger to her moving lips to quell the words coming from her lips. Seeing the confusion shining in the blue pools of her eyes, he sighed. He so didn't want to do this to her...to any of them. But, he knew this determined, passionate woman...nothing less than complete honesty would sway her. "It was Emily's decision. I offered to put the full force of the Bureau and our unit behind her to bring Doyle into custody. Strauss even signed off on it. Emily wouldn't go for it."

"Huh?" Garcia breathed, some of her earlier wrath dissipating as quickly as it had arrived, that piece of information suddenly deflating her righteously fueled balloon. "I don't understand," she whispered as her heart sank into her stomach.

"Emily didn't want to place her friends and family at risk. Not only were we in danger, but her father...the Ambassador...everyone she cared for and about. She threatened to simply disappear. To vanish."

"She did that anyway!" Garcia whimpered, her hand tightening in Hotch's shirt, the solid beat of his heart beneath her hand the only thing assuring her that this wasn't some freaky dream she couldn't wake up from. "She's a ghost."

"She is," Hotch agreed, slipping his arm around Garcia's waist. "But she's still on the grid. You proved that tonight. She has a handler. And we're still following leads. No one is going to just forget Doyle is out there, Sweetheart. Least of all me," he promised solemnly, nodding. "But I've got to keep everyone safe, Penelope."

"Swear?" Pen whispered, allowing her head to fall against the wide chest in front of her.

Closing his eyes, Aaron dropped his head to bury his nose in Garcia's soft hair. "I swear, Penelope. We'll make it right. But for now, promise me you'll forget what you saw tonight. I don't want you anywhere near Ian Doyle or Prentiss...even online. It's too dangerous."

Garcia nodded slowly against him, her earlier anger once again slowly sublimating into the depressed sadness that had been her default position since Emily had left them ."As long as you promise me that you'll bring her home."

"I'll bring her home," Hotch vowed, pressing a kiss to her head as he pulled them back against the sofa. "Anything else to say?" Hotch smiled faintly, resting his chin against her head as she relaxed against him.

"Yeah," Pen grunted unhappily, lacing her fingers with his, "I suppose from now on, you can call me Ishmael."

Chuckling dryly, Hotch lifted his eyes heavenward. God save them all from this unholy whale of a situation.

Finis


End file.
